A New Carol?
by Mmerlin
Summary: It actually isn't very Harry Potterish, but a nice twist and I fit in J.K.R. what more could you ask for, right? my first story so no flamers please!
1. Chapter 1

A Visitor

"RALEIGH!!" a strangely familiar voice echoed. I was shaken awake by the sheer vibrations running through the room. My few photos of my mother I had hanging on the wall, fell onto my cheap wooden floor and broke in their frames. "Who is there?" I called to nowhere, sounding braver than I was.

My eyes were searching frantically for the intruder. Finally, they settled on my scarcely-used fireplace, where it was turning a strange greenish glow. A shadow or a wisp of smoke, maybe even a hallucination of my own creation, was appearing in front of my fireplace, becoming more solid and distinguishable every time I blinked (which I was doing quite rapidly, trying to be rid of this apparition).

"Why Raleigh, you do not recognize the voice of your own mother? I should be disgusted!" Tears started to pour from my eyes and I suddenly felt ashamed, not for crying, but for crying in front of another being. I have mourned my mother and the path her ways led me, but I was always alone, nobody to see my tears or even to care.

It _was_ my mother's voice, so sweet and yet firm, reinforcing the message it would speak of. "But, of course," she continued, "it is my fault…..It was wrong of me to leave you here on this earth alone when I am the one who crafted you to be alone in the first place."

I had a sort of flashback; you may call it, of my first day at school … _I knew my mission: listen intently to the teachers, write down notes, study for tests, and learn to the best of my ability. My mother had these 4 instructions drilled into my head. There was nothing that dealt with interactions with other people like classmates, nothing that prepared me for kids wanting to put their filthy hands on my things, or teasing me for my shrewdness: "bookworm" or "nerd" they called me._

_I would come home each day to my mother, spilling my worries and fears, thoughts, my problems and uncertainties. I might have wanted to change, but my mother stood by her belief that we need NO-ONE! ; And I listened to her… _I have kept this way of life, my own unique culture, if you will, passed down by my dear deceased mother, who is now apparently floating in my fireplace. "As nice as this reunion is," my mother spoke again, disrupting my chain of thought," the real purpose of me coming here has not yet been informed to you." True, I thought. There has been no explanation of how my DEAD mother is here talking to me. She then made herself identified by appearing in the flesh.

I almost gasped of horrified astonishment as a gaunt effigy of my mother came down from my chimney. Her once so full and beautiful eyes now sunk into her head, midnight black hair turned to the dirtiest of grays, and already pale skin has become the lightest I have ever seen, decorated with veins that seemed to hold the least amount of blood possible. The thing that really has me shaken was her lips; the lips that would speak reassuring words through the teasing, the ones that would kiss me to bed after a particularly difficult day, now almost disappeared, their paleness blending in with her skin, all wrinkled and chapped with no life whatsoever. I fiercely wiped away the heaviness in my heart that had spilled through my eyes.

My mother started to talk again, pretending she didn't notice my tears. "I am saving you from a fate that I had condemned you to since the day you were born. I walk amongst this earth for eternity now, hearing the world's pain and knowing I can do nothing about it… but you can.

Let me send 3 spirits to show you your mistakes. I am not blaming you, Raleigh, but me instead. All I want to do is help you…_please!_" She finished her discussion with a begging edge to her voice, and I knew she was sincere. I was still not entirely convinced that she would lead me down such a horrible path, but at least now she was trying to correct it.

"I will attempt to fix my life, if only for your sake," was all I could mutter through my gasps and sobs. It would appear she thought it was enough, for she disappeared through my fireplace once again, leaving me alone to my thoughts. What would these spirits look like? How will they attempt to straighten this ever crooked trail? The clock now read 7:08pm and I had barely an hour of sleep before my surprise. I fell down once more on my bed, exhausted.


	2. Chapter 2

Christmas Past 

It seems as though the spirit world enjoys waking me up, for not half an hour later the broken frames that had cracked on the floor started to rattle again and I faintly heard my name.

"You, foolish human, Raleigh, whatever…. I am the ghost of Christmas that has already happened, to show you your faults that you have made. Prepare for an emotional experience that you may not like." I had calmed down from my experience with my mother, but I was now shaken up once again by the presence and words of an apparition.

The ghost never appeared in form so I asked it, "Where are you?" It answered, "Down here, you mutated ape!" On the floor was a snake, just a harmless garden one, if I am correct, except wasn't quite solid. Human features were evident in its face, also emotions like disgust (I somehow had a feeling that the spirit didn't like me).

"I will waste none of my precious time having pointless conversations with you, therefore, we should be heading out." The spirit then conjured a bicycle of sorts, which I supposed was my means of transportation. I didn't think a snake could possibly steer and reach the pedals at the same time.

"Let us go back to 1975, when you were 10 years old-innocent, you would suppose. You would continue to isolate yourself from each person, in a futile attempt to please your mother, no matter the cost, _dim-witted creature_." I heard this last part muttered under its breath. It was still odd to me to be talking with a snake… and it talking back! I kept my uneasiness to myself and got on the bike.

"I will provide the time-travel, but I will not be used for transportation when you can easily get your lazy self on that bike and pedal with those fat legs of yours. Perhaps after this occasion, you will be in better shape spiritually _and_ physically." Choosing not to retort, I 'got my lazy self on that bike and pedaled with those fat legs of mine'. I had not physically exerted myself in um……a long time and I had sweat running down my face in a mere matter of minutes.

We got to the outskirts of town, me on my bike and spirit on its belly, and with one swish of his tail a feeling of being sucked through a straw, my whole body being condensed into a string of utter nothingness, my compressed lungs not able to do their function, my life passing by backwards in a blur of loneliness. Finally, I was relieved of this feeling and looked at the spirit: its face was controlled and neutral, it looked unaffected of this sensation, as though it had done this many times.

Before I had time to take in my surroundings, the spirit spoke. "Let us not wait for the grass to grow, or prepare for the Lord's coming… It is time to journey to your worst memories and I get to be your tour guide, what fun!" It slithered away and I had no choice but to follow, my legs throbbing with every revolution of the pedals. I would stop a moment to catch my breath and relieve my muscles, and after each instance the spirit began to slither faster and faster, almost, I felt, on purpose

I was not paying attention to steering, for my instincts were twitching and moving the handlebars themselves, a symbolizing gesture that hinted of my knowing of this place. In fact, I wasn't even following the snake/spirit anymore. My body was taking me to my childhood home, perhaps, or maybe inside my school?

Both of my suspicions were actually false, as I came to realize. We actually passed my home and my old school: 7th Elementary School of Omnoperie. I was not sure of the school's condition currently, but it was looking its best in 1975, the colorful sign struck the eye of anyone passing, its golden bell shimmering with the rays of the sun.

A beautiful day was occurring outside, and the only one in the school library minus the librarian, was a relatively chubby child huddling in a corner, his nose sticking into a book of financial business. It looked from a bystander that the world could turn to ice, crumble, and then rebuild itself without this boy even lifting his head. Of course, even without seeing his face, every person knew that the boy was Raleigh - dorky, bookworm, just plain weird, Raleigh. His classmates and fellow citizens of Omnoperie knew to leave him of his own accord, but a problem was awakened when a new student by the name of Joanne discovered that she needed a pen and some paper for a book report and she headed for the library to check out a book.

The library, she decided, was the most wonderful place in the whole school. If she wanted to go to the moon, or to the darkest pit of the ocean, then darn' it she was going there and nobody could tell her otherwise. Joanne picked up an old book titled Phantom of the Opera and began reading. She was now swept into the world of loneliness and the shame of a disfigured man, his heart and soul poured into an opera house. Joanne had that book done in about 5 hours, the fastest her 4th grade brain would let her go.

The reading done, there was still the dilemma of a pen and paper. She peered over the corner and saw a boy doing what seemed like excessively complicated math problems on a piece of paper with a pen. "Um, excuse me?" she asked in her small and quivering voice. The boy never stumbled or faltered with his hand continually writing down numbers. It appeared her voice wasn't loud enough to shake the boy from his trance. "Ahem, excuse me?" she tried again. Yet, the boy wasn't moving!

Only Raleigh knew that he was not deaf. He could hear that heavenly voice just fine, but also another voice crowded his head; his mother shrill voice with her instructions…"if you even show signs of open communication, those ravaging wolves will wring it for all it's worth; pretending to be your friend, even ask for something small like an answer to a question or some supplies because their families were lazy and didn't work for money to put in a school fund like I so thoughtfully did"………………

"HELLO!!! I know you can hear me and could I _please _borrow and pen and paper!?" Raleigh couldn't stand the girl's intense glare and spoke only one word. "No." The snake struck out his tongue, in repugnance, perhaps, at the scene it was witnessing. "So, does that mean that you just don't have anymore, or that you don't want to give me any?" Oh, how he couldn't take the stare any longer and looked into the girl's eyes. It took an iota of time for his eyes to adjust from extensive reading to looking at a person, the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

Her eyes were like ice, that is, if ice was hazel. Her head was completed with chocolate brown hair that had red streaks when in the light from the library window. Raleigh thought of a cover-up for his rude remark before. "Umm…sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Sure, take a few sheets and I have an extra pen in my book bag." When giving her the pen, their hands touched and Raleigh felt genuinely happy, not the sort of joy when his mother praised him for his grades, or when he came across a technique for saving money in a book, but a happiness that filled his heart, filled chambers that he never even knew existed. He reflected on his mother's words. How could something that makes you feel so good be so terrible? Without saying goodbye, he left the library to have a chat with his mother.

I didn't even have to enter my old home to hear the screams of disappointment radiating from my mother's lips. I remembered that particular scenario: I told my mother my feelings after I disobeyed her and I got a good long talk. Yet, this was the first but not last time I would disobey my mother. The spirit seemed to sense that I was visiting that moment in my own memories, and therefore, there was no need of time-travel.

A ring was sitting in my pocket on that eventful day, perhaps not filled with the events I hoped to happen, but eventful nonetheless. The ring was blood red, a ruby, of you must know. I was sitting under a beech tree with the love of my life, Joanne. I was to propose to her that day, my mother none the wiser that I was in a relationship, a serious one, at that. The ruby is her birthstone, for she was born on July 31, 1958.

She began talking before I could propose. "I can see how you tear yourself on the inside, fighting a 2-sided battle. Eventually, your mother will triumph and I will not wait for that to happen." I was starting to sweat now, my heart beating out of proportion. She continued, "I know you love me, but you love your mother more. I am truly sorry." What heart? I tell myself. This woman is in possession of it; I gave it to her and trusted her with it. She pulled it from her pocket and was squeezing it, nervously. When I made no comment, she threw it on the ground, making her footprint on it, and buried it into the ground.

Now, nobody had it. My heart was forever gone, destroyed by my supposed 'love of my life'. I was a man of perseverance and my heartless self pulled that blood-red ring (my shed blood, I bitterly mused) and handed it to her before silently, mournfully, walking away from the shade of that horrible beech tree, the harsh sun now beating on my tear-stricken face.

The memory now over, I demanded the spirit to take me away, for I could no longer be in this place without memories crowding and suffocating me. Surprisingly to me, it listened and created yet another time travel, the sensation no better than the first time. My room was not repaired and there were my mother's pictures still in their broken frames scattered on the floor. Without saying a word, the snake vanished and it was no more.

I was glad to be rid of it. The ragged book I had found before my experiences was exactly where I left it; on my dresser. Thankful for my slippers, I picked up a broom and cleaned the broken shards from the floor. Reflected in one of the larger pieces was my face, haunted in all its tiredness. My exhaustion very evident now, I dared myself to look at the clock: 5:00am.


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas Present 

My lone night assistant, wretched Henry Porter, knew to arrive to work tonight, so did he just run it without my influence? He is as dumb a doornail, that boy, and wouldn't know a dime from a dollar, I thought to myself. I was a generous man because he cannot work during the day, something about school.

I have checked records of every school in the city and found no Henry Porter. Actually, my feelings for him might be understood when I knew my girlfriend, Joanne, used to come and visit with him, talking. She would write notes about who-knows-what and would thank him for sharing his secrets. I do not dare get rid of him, though, for he gets his work done at miraculous speeds, almost like magic.

No more time to wallow in my poor self-pity; I was slammed into my bed by an unknown force. I looked down at my now-cold tea resting on my nightstand alongside a photo of my mother that had not fallen to its doom on the unforgiving wood floor. The tea in the cup was rippling into wider and more prominent circles, like a giant was slowing moving closer and closer. Once again, I became frightened of the unknown taking form in my bedroom.

Perhaps the next spirit would show less hostility toward the human race, or more important, me. Looking toward the ceiling and then the fireplace, and finally the window, I was certain the spirit would not use these as entryways, for the sound of paws running across a wooden floor could be heard. The nails sometimes would rub against the ground, creating a sound that gave me goose bumps. Adding that new sensation to my dry sobs and exhaustion, I must've looked a mess. The door was nudged open with no use of the handle and I could see a black nose, its wetness shimmering in the moonlight from my window. The nose would've come to about my waist.

The head then emerged from the door, black, white, and gray. The ears were cropped, eyes a warm and friendly black, and I realized it was a dog: a beautiful harlequin Great Dane. A muscular build, it was actually a little pudgy, like it constantly overindulged and didn't know when to stop. If standing on its back feet, it would probably be taller than me, towering over my 5'7'' frame. It definitely could kill me if I gave it reason to, and my fear made me cower back from the beast. It actually looked sincerely hurt from my actions and walked up carefully to lick my hand.

I had heard of a dog's affection, I have even seen people in the streets with their canines in tow, but NEVER have I been licked by a dog personally. They could probably sense, like people, that I am not a person of civil company. I muttered a hello to this spirit of Christmas present, at least wanting to appear approachable after my cowering that seemed to have upset it so. "Do not be afraid, human. I am in perfect understanding of how formidable my predecessor is. I wish for you to learn your lesson, for I would be greatly disappointed in seeing you moaning from despair in the place your mother forever haunts. I try to help her, but she will not accept comfort from me." The dog spoke in a raspy baritone, as though it had nothing to drink in a while.

It immediately found my cold cup of tea and starting swigging it wildly, too excited in the pleasure of something sliding down his throat to realize the cup was tilting. I could do nothing while one of my mother's antique cups shattered to pieces, the floor engaging yet another victim. Once I got back from another horrid expedition, I shall have to sweep the floors…. AGAIN! "My apologies, your home is rather difficult to locate, and not many people are gracious to an apparently homeless beast."

I was starting to feel pity for this hearty creature…'_but that's what you get for being heartfelt with street-people._' I heard my mother's voice echoing from long ago. "You will only be saved once you stop these mental voices." He continued at my confused look. "I know what is troubling you inside your mind, in fact, all the spirits do. Apparently, my dear friend was not associated with filling you in on what happens. Straight to business with him. Let's get a move on now… to Joanne's house, we go!"

I paused in my doorway. Joanne? My heartbreak? The spirit saw my broken face and barked, nose pointing to me and then to his back. I rode on him, as you would a horse. It was a relatively short trip and I wondered why I had never seen her since that fateful day, considering how close she was.

I peered through a window that was very foggy and covered in a thin layer of grime that coated my nose, for I didn't realize the anticipation of seeing how her life had been spent without me had me pushing my face against the window; I could barely see inside. Her form was in the kitchen, making a sweet of sorts, that I was sure would've been mouthwatering. She brought the pudding to the table, balancing it on her stomach. Why, it was huge. She must be pregnant.

Joanne called to her family, I presumed, and I could feel the trembles running through the ground as 2 children and a man came running from the back of the home. The man kissed her cheek and the children all came up to hug her, the littlest one putting its hand on her belly. I was not able to accurately hear their discussions, but they would laugh and have never-ending smiles on their faces while eating that mound of pudding. She's happier without me, I thought to myself. "M' afraid so," said the spirit, obviously able to read my thoughts, or maybe it was simply written on my expressions.

I demanded we go back to my bedroom, but the spirit took me to my bank,

instead. Henry Porter was at his accustomed desk, shivering and hardly able to

write. He was muttering under his breath, "Just….need….warmth. Just a…little.

That's all….I ask for, Mr. Raleigh sir…" The spirit looked at the boy with pity and

lit a fire without any fuel. I simply looked upon my worker and noted to prepare

each day with a piece of wood in the fire. That should warm him up. "I feel the

lesson has not been reinforced with my coming," said the spirit sadly. "Hopefully,

the next one will be more fortunate." He disappeared just as the snake had.


	4. Chapter 4

Christmas Future 

Remembering my chore, I once again got the broom and swept up the remains of the cup. My eyes drifted back to the book on that dresser, still unread. I knew the final spirit should be arriving any second and should not start the book just yet.

A wind blew in my room, yet there was no sure explanation of its origin. The window was closed, so was the door. The wind multiplied in speed and ruffled my hair and clothes. Bed curtains and sheets flew every which way, and my eyes couldn't handle this confusion. I picked my ragged book up to keep it from tearing apart. But as soon as the wind came, it was gone, in its place an old spirit who simply radiated wisdom.

His white beard was swept into a knot, or else he would be constantly tripping over it. A pair of reading glasses sat perched atop his nose. He saw the book in my hand and sighed, "Ah, the pleasures of reading…" This spirit was of careful balance between powerful and friendly. I felt rather inferior to this spirit and thus I bowed, a low, sweeping one. I could feel my nose actually touch the newly-swept floor. The spirit looked down at me through his spectacles. "Now my boy, there is no time for these niceties. I am here to correct you in your ways." I slowly raised myself from the floor, still a good foot shorter than this mighty being. "Lead the way, oh spirit of things yet to come! May I first know your name?"

The man sat down on my bed beside me, apparently preparing himself for a talk, formulating words in that knowledgeable head. "Firstly, my name is Albus Dumbledore and I am no spirit. I am as human and solid as you are. I was um… called… here for want of a better word. A voice ordered my coming to this spot. I suspected it was for the reason that I have a very accurate grasp of what is to come. I am able to piece details together, like a puzzle, to form a correct plot of what has not yet happened. Of course, I could be wrong. But, pardon my lack of modesty, I am rarely mistaken."

All I could do was sit there on my bed, probably a mess with my hair still ruffled and sheets strewn in all places. My silence was taken as acceptance and he abruptly walked from the room, his periwinkle robes billowing behind him. I supposed he wanted me to follow, and my feet were even still aching from the bicycle ride.

Dumbledore strode to the bottom of the staircase and halted. I actually almost fell onto him because of the rapidity of his stop. My slippers creaked on the stairs, and I was surprised that I didn't wake a boy sitting at the desk. The spirit's power was mightier than I suspected when I realized that we had gone into the future without my recognition. Was the first of the spirits _trying_ to make the voyage uncomfortable for me when we time-traveled?

I turned my attention back to the boy at the desk: There lay Henry Porter, skin almost blue of frostiness, thin coat wrapped around his small figure. He looked to be asleep, head resting on the desk. Because of the apparitions, I had completely forgotten to place the accustomed piece of coal in the fireplace, waiting to be lit when he arrived. There was nothing to spare him heat in the bank.

"He is actually unconscious currently, if you wanted to know. The little money you pay him leaves him unable to purchase food, thus his small body. With no heat, he is easily susceptible to hyperthermia, which leaves him where he sits tonight." Dumbledore said this with a melancholy tone to his voice. "If time does nothing to resist its course at this moment, this poor young boy will perish in a matter of minutes, frozen and starved to death." Again, Dumbledore look very depressed, and I couldn't help thinking that I was the cause of it.

He moved from the staircase, not quite as swiftly as before, as though his shoes were suddenly filled with lead. Out the door he went, and I obediently followed. I had never been along the path he was taking me, but recognized the place when we finally arrived. It was the Church and I never had any business here. He gestured at the bulletin and I took one from the slot.' CHRISTMAS', the first page read. The inside was nothing but group announcements and lists of the deceased. Dumbledore would not allow me to turn the page, so I searched the entire inside for anything relating to me and I saw nothing.

He realized I would need a nudge in the right direction and pointed on a name, the very last name on the deceased list: Henry Portter. It wasn't very influential to me. I could always search for another night worker. But then I saw the deeper meaning: I killed a man. Not, of course, with my own hands, but with my greed and miserliness. I should find a way to convince everyone it was not I that killed him, that way; the government will not have to pay for my food and living costs in prison.

The people shall not have to spend any money on my account. I voiced my thoughts to Dumbledore, expecting him to be proud of my revelation. But he looked at me with failure in his eyes. "No, my boy, that isn't it at all. For this transformation of your soul to work, you must feel in your heart the truth, so me telling your heart what to believe would be cheating, I daresay."

I scowled at my foolishness and tailed Dumbledore once again. We arrived in a field of corn on the outskirts of town. The place I recognized when the Christmas Present ghost took me to Joanne's home. A place of freshly moved dirt sat below Joanne, who was with her husband. "I will not mourn such a man, but will acknowledge his death," she said and spat on the ground. A ring was pulled from her pocket, a ruby, and she stomped it into the ground above the pit. In my soul, I knew the identity of the man she spoke of. My brain did not want to believe it, though. Joanne scraped letters with her shoe into the ground. It read: Here lies Raleigh, may he rest and leave the rest of us alone.

Dumbledore looked at my reaction of reading these words with pity, and I knew right then the true meaning of life and love. Seeing my deathbed lined with such abhorrence changed my soul, thus changing my outlook on life and actions. A smile lit Dumbledore's face and he brought me back to my room, the time being present. Without another word said, he simply popped away. The clock now read 8:00am.


	5. Chapter 5

A Change Of Heart

It was acceptable, I told myself until I realized that the church bell was ringing, the vibrations like a cool mist, repetitive in its buzzes. Christmas Eve masses don't begin until late at night, when I should be asleep! House near the church, I could hear the faint chorus of "Joy to the World" from my open window, which was a mystery all in its own because I have never opened that blasted window, letting in the sounds of the common people in the market, allowing them to intrude on my own activities in return. The only logical explanation was that it was Christmas day! There was no time to waste another minute.

I dressed in my finest and walked to church, giving a happy greeting to all those who passed. Why, I even saw Joanne there with her 3 children, one a newborn she was cradling in her arm. She looked at me suspiciously with my smile still plastered on my face.

I simply walked by and picked up a bulletin. The front still said 'CHRISTMAS' but the inside was strangely empty. Under the deceased list, no names were mentioned, not 1! The mass was exciting to say the least, for each person had a surprised expression when seeing me there.

Joanne actually invited me to see a premier of her first published book. I could understand she wasn't remotely sure why she was inviting me, but she could sense a change, as could everyone else. Straightening my tie, I wished her luck with her family and newborn before hurrying off. Henry Porter was about to leave from his night shift when I arrived bustling through the door. "Harry, my good man, where ever would you be going in such a hurry? I have news, good news at that, in fact, fantastic news! We shall be going to Joanne's (you _do_ remember Joanne, of course you do you clever boy) premier of her new book.

You shall be paid overtime for this. In fact, let me raise your salary by half! How does that sound, boy?" I was going to trick him, but I found my happiness bubbling to the surface, longing to burst forth. "Oh…gosh.. thank you sir! I was actually on my way there this moment." Henry Porter's smile never looked sweeter, in fact, much better than when he was almost dead, come to think of it. The bus seemed much too cheap and I called in a luxury cab for us to travel in. Henry's face was contorted in confusion as he stepped into the cab.

Joanne gave a marvelous speech in which I claim to have clapped the hardest, when she called Henry Porter on stage. He, it turns out, would be receiving a third of all profits made from this book for the plot idea. The book, in fact, was named Harry Potter for secrecy purposes. Joanne gave a wink my way as she started giving away signed copies to all the eager people. I was not used to the bustle of the crowd and excused myself. Henry made it clear he was riding back with Joanne.

Right away, I ran from the cab (after paying the driver a handsome tip) to the house and picked up the mysterious book. No more distractions, I was going to enjoy this book. Savoring the moment, I opened the first page….nothing. Anticipation growing, I turned to the second page…nothing.

My curiosity overrode my patience and I flipped through the entire book, not finding one word. Frustration came into my mind at first, then possibilities. If the book was empty, then I shall have to fill it, now shouldn't I? So I made myself a cup of tea and wrote down my experiences starting with the night two days before Christmas…

The End


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